


Lost Best Friend

by Fafsernir



Series: Torchwood Prompts [53]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9675119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir
Summary: Ianto was tired, depressed and probably traumatized. But Ianto was quiet and didn't talk about his feelings, not even to Jack. Tosh and Owen were dead, but he had cried only once.





	

**Author's Note:**

> On my tumblr https://mel-writes-and-recs.tumblr.com/ someone asked for "Are you going to talk to me?" with Janto from a list of sentences to help write :)
> 
> Don't hesitate to take a look at my Tumblr and/or to ask something, I'll do my best! A comment would be appreciated too :)

It had been a particularly hard and long day for the whole Torchwood team, but even more for Ianto. Not only had he saved the day and taken no credits for it while Gwen had everything – he normally wouldn't care, he actually preferred it that way, but some recognition sometimes didn't hurt anyone, especially from Jack – but it had also been a tougher case than usual. Jack dying was always painful, for one, and it had confirmed to Ianto that the team was good, but that something was missing. Or rather, someone. They were slower and less competent – or more at direct risk – than they had been when Tosh and Owen had still been here. And thinking about his dead friends on the field never helped Ianto going through the day. He knew he was depressed by their deaths, but he also knew he could do nothing about it and that he just had good days and some dark ones. This one was a really dark one.

Images of Canary Wharf were flashing through his mind as Jack drove the SUV back to the Hub, Ianto unfit to drive. Pictures of Tosh's death came back to him as Jack sewed the skin from his wound back together – he was sitting above the place where she had bled to death.

His impotency was clouding his mind with bad, depressive thoughts that he knew he shouldn't have, but still had.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked at some point, and Ianto did what he did best: he nodded and smiled, lying.

He didn't like it, especially not when it was to Jack, but it was almost a reflex now. Of course he was fine, otherwise the team would fall apart, right? They all needed to be strong, even just in appearance.

Jack sighed and left him in the bay to recover. Ianto almost called back, disappointed, but shut his mouth. It wasn't Jack's fault if Ianto didn't talk and dealt with his feelings alone, in silence. It wasn't his fault, but Ianto still wanted him to ask, to push. It was stupid, of course, and way too complicated, but since when were Jack and he ever simple?

He waited a moment for the painkillers to work, then helped the reduced team with every little things they had to do after a mission – check the CCTV, talk to the police, check again if nobody needed retcon, find a cover story, deal with the aliens' dead bodies...

 

When Jack sent Gwen home, he offered Ianto the same. Ianto hesitated but was exhausted, and he needed rest so he nodded and followed Jack slowly. The silence during the ride was heavy and awkward, and Ianto didn't dare to move once they were parked near his flat. He just stared out the window, hoping they wouldn't stay there forever.

Jack opened his mouth a few times without saying anything, clenched his fist on the steering wheel, and sighed.

“Ianto, how are you?” he eventually said.

Ianto froze. That was what he wanted, right? Jack asking him what was wrong.

“Fine,” he chose to answer nevertheless. “The pain is not as strong as it could be.”

Jack frowned, then shook his head. They stayed in the car for a moment, then Ianto reached his breaking point and sighed, opening the door to jerk his bad thoughts away. Jack's hand appeared instantly on his thigh and Ianto looked at him. After a short silent dialogue – something along the lines of “are you sure?” “Stop asking.” – Ianto left the car and slowly made his way to his flat.

“Ianto, wait!” Jack called back. “Are you going to talk to me?”

Ianto scoffed and shook his head, not looking at Jack. He kept walking and unlocked his flat, letting the door open, then stopped in the middle of the corridor. Jack joined him quickly and grabbed his wrist, even though it wasn't really useful. He kicked the door shut and pulled at Ianto's arm, waiting for him to turn, in vain.

“I know I shouldn't be the one asking you to talk, but... Ianto, you're keeping too much for yourself for no other reason that you think copping alone in your corner will be more efficient.”

“It's not--” Ianto said, turning to stare at Jack who shook his head. He seemed sad and Ianto frowned.

“I miss them too,” he whispered. Ianto opened his mouth and closed it, not saying anything. “But you're still here. Don't waste that time for people that aren't here any more. Make them live through you. Do you think Tosh would have liked this?”

Ianto frowned. Jack rarely spoke her name, and it hurt to hear the sadness in his voice. Sometimes, Ianto forgot Jack had lost her too. And Jack was the boss, and knowing him, he probably blamed himself a lot for that one. Especially since it had all been Gray's fault, Jack's own brother from a future none of them knew.

“I wouldn't know, she's dead,” Ianto still answered, although he wasn't hiding how tired he was any more.

Jack stared at him for a moment then looked away, almost ashamed by what he was going to say. “What about your Mum?”

Ianto had expected him to mention Lisa, not his Mum. It was too recent and too painful. Even he didn't dare to think about her a lot, the idea of his own mother dead being a lot to bear.

He freed himself from Jack's grip and wiped the tears forming in his eyes.

“That's unfair,” he sniffed.

“Yes, but you need to talk. Let it out,” Jack said calmly, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I don't want to,” Ianto shook his head, but Jack had triggered something by mentioning both Tosh and his mom's names and he started crying, trying to contain tears that started to roll on his cheeks quickly.

“It's okay,” Jack murmured, taking him in his arms.

For the first time since the night of Tosh's funeral, Ianto let himself cry in front of someone. Jack was a good shoulder to cry on; he was silent – and if he did talk, it was at the right moment – and he had strong arms and didn't mind his shirt getting wet.

Jack offered Ianto to move after a while, and Ianto nodded and followed him slowly, his legs hurting for having stood in the same position for so long. He stopped crying but still had tears in his eyes. Jack took care of both of them and got them ready for bed, Ianto closing his eyes and letting him do everything. Once he was lying on his back, he opened his eyes again and stared a moment at Jack, then started talking, as if Jack had just switched a button in him.

He talked about meaningless things, he talked about his pain and how much he missed some people, he almost told for the first time exactly what had happened in Canary Wharf, but stopped himself. It was too much for one night. And he fell asleep before he could, anyway. Jack simply listened in a respectful silence, nodding or smiling sometimes to show that he was still listening.

It felt good, talking to Jack. To someone Ianto knew wouldn't judge him and would always accept him for who he was, because Ianto had accepted him the same way, without much questions.

In a way, Ianto found the best friend he had lost when Tosh had died, and he realised how much he had missed that. Someone to ramble to, talk to. Someone he wouldn't hesitate to go to. Someone who would listen to him. Jack turned into his best friend that night, and Ianto was glad it was him.


End file.
